The Game of Fates

by Joel Babbitt

  Demo looked up from the blade of grass he’d been toying with and stood up. “Um, yes… perhaps, but certainly not precisely the same situation. History, like lightning, never strikes the same way twice, you know.”

  Jominai looked at him to continue. “I know our gens have had to provide warriors to the Bloodhand Orcs and others before them, to fight in their petty inter-tribal wars. Is there any instance there where our people have been able to escape that service?” He finally prompted Demo to continue.

  “Well… yes, actually,” Demo, the Oracle of the Ancestors replied. “If I remember correctly, there is a story of a lord some time back who initially went out in service, then upon arriving at the orc’s encampment found that the other orc tribe had been there and destroyed the orc tribe he was to serve already. As such, he and his host promptly returned home.”

  Jominai pursed his lips. “I don’t think hoping for some other force to take out the orcs is a viable option. Any others?”

  Demo shook his head. “None come to mind, sire.”

  Looking around at the assembled group of leaders, Jominai finally sighed a resigned sigh. “Well, if it comes down to it, my fellow kobolds, let it not be said that we struck the first blow. Let us hold back as much as we can, and wait rather than go after any of our brethren in this valley. Ensure you pass the word. We will not strike the first blow. If there is to be hatred between our valleys, so be it, but I am not convinced that the Creator has let the Fates run amok against us. We shall yet see what His will is in this matter, perhaps through the actions of the Kales themselves.”

  The massive beast that was the ant queen held the little creature up closer to her large, multi-faceted eyes. Though she had torn off one of its limbs, it still continued to struggle. They were tenacious little creatures, not as soft and weak as the four-legged horned food that she and her children ate in their home on the great flat earth. Though this creature was smaller and more fearful than the much larger horned creatures that ran about on the great flat earth in packs on their two legs, it seemed almost as resilient and defiant. It was not giving up life easily. In fact, its few brothers who were with it had been just as defiant, before she had fed them to her children.

  Had her daughter not expected this? Had she underestimated the little food of the valley above? Was this why she had died? Food had its uses, and sometimes caused disorder, but never before had food gained power enough to kill one of her daughters! This was unacceptable, and for that she would take the food of this valley… all of it… and she would stay here until it was done.

  Yes, she would miss the food of the great flat earth where her hills rose far above the place of two rivers joining, but it would have to be done. Food had to be food. And when food saw itself in any other way, it had to be put down. Generations of queens had passed this knowledge to her. It was such a fact that it didn’t even merit the use of the ant queen’s rare gift; she would not use her precious ability to think, to reconsider. There was no other way.

  Tearing another limb off of the noisy food as its face contorted in such an alien way, she looked at how weak it was. It had no hard carapace, only dainty little scales, weaker than the skin of a new hatchling. It had no mandibles, only little teeth like furry food had. Its four limbs had no spikes, and its tail had no stinger. When they were found in groups they made noise at each other instead of using scents. And they were never of one mind. One would run, while another would stand and fight. How disordered! How alien! How… food-like.

  Yet, this little food picked up sticks and used metal like the two-legged horned food of the great flat earth that was her home. They had bones as well, which were hard for her little children to break, though the marrow of them was sweet and particularly delicious. Strangest of all, though, was that they seemed to be able to think like her. They seemed to not be controlled by anything but themselves. Each of them seemed to be its own queen, choosing its own actions.

  For that reason, the queen studied the little food, with its silly little horns and its red scales. For the four-legged food of her home acted mostly like a group, and the two-legged horned food of her home were not much above the four-legged food in intelligence, but this little food… it was like fighting many, many little invader queens all at the same time, with no minions to do their will. It was chaos, and chaos was something she was not used to.

  As she saw the little food’s eyes fall back into its head, she realized this food was spent. Throwing the useless thing to her warrior attendants, the queen stood up and grabbed the edge of the great hole above her and began to climb up the massive shaft after her children. The scent that matched the food that had killed her daughter was pervasive here. She and her hosts would destroy those who had killed her daughter, lest their impetuousness spread. Then they would destroy the rest of the little food on the other side of this valley.

  They may be like queens in their thinking, but even their intelligence would not save them from the landslide of strength and power that were the hosts of her children. And to recapture the drones of her daughter, who had gone about directionless without her daughter’s mind to guide them, she had sent some of her most mature warriors to gather them and to bring them against the ones who had destroyed her daughter. Together, acting as one, her many, many children would bring order to this valley. It was inevitable.

  Food would be food, and the ant queen’s hosts would feast on them for the coming season of warm sun, and lay aside this meat for the season of white ice, leaving the four-legged food of their home place on the great flat earth to grow in numbers for her host’s return in the season of water from above.

  Ahn-Ki looked down at the sniveling orcling that knelt before him. The scowl on his face and his crossed arms were enough to make the young orc whine and squirm, never mind the eye patch and masterfully crafted armor and swords. Was this scout telling the truth? Had he actually gone to the kobold palisade that sat against the southern slopes of the northern mountains, or had he decided to sleep all day and come back with a tale of what Ahn-Ki wanted to hear?

  Shagra, Drakebane the Mighty’s son who had failed to bring back a treaty from the two kobold gens here in the southern valley, stood off to one side. Ahn-Ki had no respect for Drakebane’s intelligence, nor for that of his current favored son Grimbane, who was an unqualified idiot if ever he’d seen one. Shagra, on the other hand, spoke very little, but when he did he showed a cunning and an intellect that would serve a hobgoblin well.

  He would certainly have to watch that one.

  “Shagra, you have been in this valley recently, what do you think about this orcling’s report? Have you heard anything about this little fortress north of the Kale Gen’s home?” Ahn-Ki asked the wily-eyed orc champion.

  Shagra stood absent-mindedly rubbing the spot on his side where the arrow had entered. The shaman had healed that wound days ago, but the memory of it was still with him. After a moment, he spoke in his own low, gravelly tongue. “Shadow Hand, kobold of Kale Gen in west, wants chieftain honor. He try kill chieftain called Karthan. Maybe Karthan not killed and he run? Maybe Karthan and warriors go build fort. Or maybe Shadow Hand fail and need fort so they not kill him.”

  Ahn-Ki did not react. The brute was probably right. With civil strife there’s always a winner and a loser. Now the question was, what had the winner kept in the tunnels of the Kale Gen, and what had the loser taken with him to the fort north of the gen? More importantly, which piece of the gen was larger, and which piece had their stone of power?

  The dragon was a harsh partner. No matter what lie they told the orcs to get them to fight, in the end the only thing that mattered was getting the Kale Stone and capturing enough kobolds to please the dragon.

  But what of this Krall Gen in the home amongst the tall trees on the eastern side of this little valley? Would they come out against the orcs? He knew that the dragon wanted that stone eventually as well. Perhaps getting them involved now would be best. Why had none of the scouts that he had sent t
o spy on the Krall Gen returned? That was an area of blindness, and Ahn-Ki was uncomfortable with that.

  “Shagra,” he turned to the muscle-bound champion, “where were these ants you say you saw? Were they near the home of this Krall Gen in the east?”

  Shagra nodded, a strange shadow of fear dancing across his flattened, almost feral features.

  Ahn-Ki took note of that and decided to pay more attention to these ants than he had so far. “None of the scouts we sent to the Krall Gen have returned. I wonder if the ants are to blame, or if the Kralls killed our scouts.”

  Shagra looked away, as if he didn’t want to talk about it, just in case Ahn-Ki was planning on sending him out against the ants.

  Ahn-Ki, however, was looking to find something to motivate the orc horde to go and fight the Krall Gen next. Shagra was out of favor with his father and, therefore, the rest of the horde right now… but Grimbane’s political star was rising.

  Ahn-Ki almost snorted at such words being applied to orcs. Either way, Grimbane was probably the right choice to sacrifice in a futile probe against the Krall Gen. With any luck, he could get both gens to come out to battle while this orc horde was in the valley. Something of a ‘two birds with one stone’ strategy.

  Well, one thing was sure, the orcs were certainly not much smarter than stones, and throwing away Grimbane to bring both gens out to battle would be easy enough. Turning back to Shagra, he gave the order.

  “Tell Grimbane to gather his little group of warriors and come to me. I have a task for him.”

  Chapter 4 – Into the Night

  Kormach Manebrow’s heart longed to make the turn down the side hallway that led down into the home caverns of the Honor Guard Warrior Group. Yes, he was now the chief elite warrior of the Wolf Riders Warrior Group, but most of his fifteen years as a warrior of the Kale Gen had been spent with the Honor Guard. It was a place of safety for him, a place of peace. And until his lifemate and three sons were moved down to his new warrior group, his heart would always be there with them.

  Sighing with the recent memory of his return home, and the joy his safe return had brought, yet the continued tension his new mission had brought his already distraught lifemate, Manebrow continued past the passageway and on toward the council chamber of the Kale Gen, where he knew Durik and Lord Karthan would be discussing the night’s mission, likely the first strike against the approaching orc horde.

  “Yes, sire,” Durik’s voice sounded from the chamber ahead. “But despite what I’ve seen of the ants in the visions, and despite our discussion here this day about their tactics and their organization, I cannot say for sure when they will attack our gen, nor where they will come from, though I certainly agree that it would be prudent to prepare to collapse the chamber at the top of Sheerface. If nothing else, it will secure our backdoor while our forces are fighting the orc horde. And, Fates forbid it, if we have to retreat back here to the caves, they’ll only have one way to get at us.”

  “Lord Karthan,” a voice Manebrow didn’t immediately recognize spoke up. “If they are coming at us at the same time the orc horde is coming, then I believe the only course of action is to pick a position that is both high ground and clear. That choice would work best against both the orc horde and the ant horde.”

  Manebrow arrived at the door to the council chamber and looked about. Seated on his throne, Lord Karthan was flanked by a pensive Khazak Mail Fist and an equally pensive, if not perplexed, Loremaster. The ancient kobold was clearly not comfortable with what would have to be his advisory role as historian of the gen, but Manebrow could think of no one who knew their history better. Lord Karthan’s daughter Kiria and the healer Myaliae from the Krall Gen were seated together off to one side of the Loremaster. Manebrow would have thought them out of place just a couple of weeks ago, but since then they had proved themselves capable in a fight.

  “Aye,” one of the probably thirty elite warriors seated around the perimeter of the council chamber spoke up. “I agree. If we arm all of our warriors with bows, as you say, sire, then we shall both have the advantage on the unshielded orc horde and be able to slay the ant horde’s captains from a distance, and thereby scatter their drones.”

  “Let us remember,” Durik interjected, “that the greater horde of ants that is approaching from below has almost no drones. Their members are more mature and have almost all changed into their warrior form.”

  “Yes, and because of that, we should collapse Sheerface now!” one of the elite warriors spoke up.

  “No,” Lord Karthan answered. “We will wait for these kobolds who call themselves the Deep Gen to arrive. They are, after all, cousins of ours. Remember, my Kale brothers, they are Kale like us. I will help them if I can. Their strength may be the difference between our survival and our destruction in the days ahead.”

  Manebrow noticed that the elite warriors that were here were only a fraction of the probably two hundred or so elite warriors in the gen, and they were right now seated together by warrior group. Durik was seated alone not far from the door, so Manebrow skirted the large terrain model which was the center of the council chamber and seated himself next to his leader.

  “So,” he whispered to Durik, “last council only the more senior elite warriors were invited, and this council there was another cut, I see.”

  Durik nodded and turned to answer his second. “Lord Karthan has decided to make a few changes to things. He’s picked one elite warrior for every forty or fifty warriors or elite warriors in our gen, and put them over the rest of the fifty. He’s called them sub-leaders.”

  Manebrow looked quizzically at Durik. “So, they’re leader caste then? And these thirty are them?”

  Durik shook his head. “No, they’re more like ‘sub-chief elite warriors,’ you could say. He says he’ll pick leader caste and chief elite warriors later. Right now, the rest of the gen is going to learn to fight in one big formation, but a formation made up of companies of not more than fifty, led by these thirty elite warriors.”

  Manebrow thought about that for a moment. It made sense, what with the deaths of most of the warrior group leaders in the recent overthrow. He certainly didn’t think that making a bunch of leader caste would be best, not with all the competing interests and politicking that always accompanied a kobold’s rise to the ranks of leader caste. No, best to just organize for the fight and worry about honors and such when their lives weren’t on the line.

  “Then it is agreed,” Lord Karthan’s pronouncement broke through Manebrow’s thoughts. “Now, Khazak Mail Fist here will go with the Patrol Guard and divide up the elite warriors and their warriors between you sub-leaders from that warrior group. I, in the meantime, will go through the other warrior groups and decide the same with you chosen sub-leaders.

  “Once we’ve finished, I want all elite warriors in the gen to assemble in the large open field between the limestone quarry and the sunken meadow. You will leave your warriors to the work of gathering or making bows, arrows, spears and shields enough for everyone in our gen. Tonight,” Lord Karthan looked about the room at the earnest faces of these grizzled, veteran warriors, “tonight we leaders of the Kale Gen will come together and learn to work as one. Tonight we organize for tomorrow’s battle. May the Fates smile upon us, and may the Creator bless our efforts!”

  “Yes,” Lord Karthan answered, nodding at the suggestion. “I agree. Absolutely every effort must be made to engage these orcs before they arrive here, and I am not above using whatever means we have at our disposal to kill them, either.”

  “Then, sire,” Durik pressed, “you’ll set up the trap for them at the loyalist enclosure?”

  “The ‘loyalist enclosure’ is it, then?” Lord Karthan was surprised by the comment. “I guess you’re right, it was where I and those who remained loyal to me fled.”

  “Sire?” Durik pressed. His warrior group was lined up already outside, and every moment he delayed put him and his warrior group one more moment closer to dawn and the inevitabl
e mobilization of the orc horde for the next day’s battle.

  “Yes, Durik,” Lord Karthan nodded. “I will have the Patrol Guard begin gathering the weed to lace with that rot you speak of immediately. It will be there when the orcs arrive, and all will be done as you’ve requested.”

  “Very well, sire, then, if there is nothing further, I take my leave.”

  Lord Karthan held up a finger. “There are two more things, young Durik.”

  “Sire?”

  “Tomorrow, halfway between here and the picket line, here at the long meadow that slopes down from this broad, gentle hill,” he said as he stepped carefully through the terrain model that covered the floor and pointed at a bare mound of dirt, “our forces will be set up and ready to receive the orcs. Now, the only thing that would likely bring them to that hill is if they were chasing you and your wolf riders down this road from the picket line toward our gen’s home caverns,” he said as he pointed out the relevant features. “Do you think the Wolf Riders can handle that mission?”

  Durik looked over at Manebrow, who stood nodding slightly, a pensive look on his face.

  “Aye, sire. We will be the bait to lead them into your trap,” Durik answered as he turned to go.

  “Wait, Durik,” Lord Karthan said. “There were two things. The Krall healer Myaliae, she was part of your company, as was my daughter and the warrior Terrim.”

  Durik nodded. “Yes, sire.”

  “They have expressed a desire to join your new warrior group.”

  Durik looked puzzled. “I’m flattered, sire, but I don’t understand. Wouldn’t Kiria and Myaliae serve the gen better under the Loremaster or in the Halls of Healing?”

  Lord Karthan looked deeply into Durik’s eyes, as if to see into his heart. After a moment, he smiled. “Durik, none of us knows what tomorrow may bring.”